Rebound Biker (4 page)

Winston

Bubblegum
Babe

The
next few days, I'm wrapped up in Meredith Gordon. I drop by her place each
night. First time, I bring pizza. Next night, it's Thai. Finally, we try
Mexican.
Nothing says sexy like refried beans.

Without
asking, I bring clothes and hygiene stuff. Meredith doesn't mention anything
about me staying over. I know she's thinking it. Her mind is always ripping
things apart and figuring them out. I see all the thinking in her blue eyes.

Meredith
hasn't called me a rebound guy since the first night at the bar. I wonder if
she's still thinking that too. Call me a chickenshit, but I don't ask. I'm too
damn happy to fuck things up with honesty.

Except
I don't want it to end. If I'm wrong about us being something permanent, what
then? Do I want to be shocked when the big moment arrives? Am I really so
cowardly that I won't test this new thing I have with Meredith.

When
I call her in the afternoon, she's with a patient, but calls me back.

"Is
something wrong?" she asks, sounding worried.

"No,
I was thinking we might change things up tonight."

"How?"

"I'll
pick you up on my Harley and we'll go riding in the back roads."

Meredith's
silence says more than any words.

"You're
a shrink, so you outta know the keys to a happy relationship are communication
and compromise. I'm communicating with you about what I want you to compromise
on. Bikes and my club are important to me. You're important to me. It'd be like
never having you meet my family."

"Compromise
is important. So if I go riding even though I'm leery of motorcycles, what do I
get in exchange?"

"What
do you want?" I murmur.

"Next
Saturday, I'm golfing with my parents and sister. I want you to come with
me."

I'll
need to agree to dip my booted foot into her uppity life or she won't be forced
out of her comfort zone with the Harley. I have to applaud her sly moves.

"Do
I have to wear those ugly pants?" I ask.

"I
want my family to meet you. Wearing those ugly pants wouldn't be the real you.
I don't want a lie."

Hearing
her embrace the real me, I wish we aren't separated by ten miles. "I'm
fucking you extra hard tonight for saying that."

"Assuming
I survive the bike ride."

"I'll
drive nice and slow. I promise."

Meredith
falls into silence again and I wonder if she'll wiggle her way out of the
compromise.

"What
should I wear?" she finally asks.

"Something
comfortable. That way I can get you naked faster when we get back to your
place."

Meredith
laughs in a quiet way that tells me her mind is now on the naked part rather
than the ride. I hope she'll still be in such a great mood when I pick her up.

When
I arrive at her place, Meredith is pacing on her porch. She forces a smile, but
her eyes are really frigging tense.

The
only way I know how to make her relax is to kiss her hard. My hunger startles
her. First, she tenses then she wraps me in her arms and holds on tight.

"I
brought you a helmet," I say, revealing the pink monstrosity. "It's
my sister-in-law's."

"Where's
yours?" she asks as if channeling my mom.

"I
don't wear one."

Meredith
takes the pink helmet and sighs. "I don't approve. I know the statistics
of motorcycle crashes and survival rates."

I
reach over and tug at the loop on her jeans. "Please don't share them. I'm
not wearing a helmet even if you school me all night long."

Meredith
smiles, but she's worried. I take the helmet and adjust it on her head. She's a
sexy body with a gumball head.

"Did
I tell you how Kemp's dad died?"

When
she shakes her head, the helmet adjusts lower, covering her eyes. I suspect my
sister-in-law bought an especially large helmet to prevent messing up her hair.

"He
had a severe panic attack one day at work," I say, helping Meredith adjust
the helmet. "He ran a small trucking business and the economy was in the
toilet. Jerry figured he'd need to lay off people soon and the pressure got to
him."

My
hands find the buttons on the front of her pale blue shirt and I think about
what's underneath. That morning she wore a bright white bra. Smelling like
she's taken a shower, I wonder if she was wearing a different bra now. Man, if
I'm not dying to find out the answer immediately.

"So
he thought it was a heart attack and ended up in the hospital. Even after
finding out it was a panic attack, he looked at his life and decided to make a
change. He wanted to be around for his grandkids and travel with my mom after
he retired. So he decided to get healthy. Hired a dietician. Got a trainer at
the gym. Jerry lost thirty pounds over the next six months or so. He jogged in
the mornings. Quit drinking beer. Started ordering salads. All healthy
shit."

Meredith
gives me a smirk as if knowing where my story ends.

"Yeah,
so he had a real heart attack at the gym one day and was dead before the
paramedics arrive. You get my point?"

"Yeah,
I get it."

"You
can micromanage shit, Meredith. When death is coming, it doesn't really give a
crap what you have planned."

"Fair
enough, but I'm still wearing the helmet."

"You
do that," I say, kissing her nose since it's the only part of her face I
can easily reach. "Ready? I figure we can ride for a while then stop at a diner
I know."

"Why
a diner?"

"Why
not?" I ask, throwing my leg over the Harley. "It's a place I go with
my friends."

Meredith
studies me from inside the cavernous helmet. She's figuring out my reasons for
this sudden departure from our last few days together.

"You're
testing me," she says, awkwardly climbing on behind me. "If I fail
and you dump me, I plan to throw a huge fit. I've never done that before and
they look fun when Bethany does them."

"There's
no failing and I'm not dumping you."

Meredith
says nothing, nervous now to the point of shaking. I feel her tension ramp up
as soon as I start the engine.

"I
don't want to die."

"I'd
be more worried about the food at the restaurant than getting hurt from
riding."

"You're
not making me feel better."

"Sorry,
babe. I've never had a chick so scared to ride before."

Meredith
tenses even more and I sense she's pissed. Glancing back, I can't see anything
past the gumball on her head.

"I've
never taken a chick to the restaurant either."

Whether
Meredith takes this as a compliment, I don't know. She says nothing, holding on
tight. I'm careful to drive slow through the neighborhood streets. Through it
all, Meredith holds me in her death grip.

Just
outside of her subdivision is a street leading to expansive farmland. Empty
roads allow me to open up the engine and enjoy the Harley's power. Meredith
grabs me tighter, digging her nails into my gut like she's hoping to climb
inside me.

Not
wanting her to be afraid, I wish Meredith loved riding the Harley. Her fear
isn't a deal breaker though. I'm not sure anything could be.

As
the sun sets, we ride down the long quiet roads and past miles of cornfields
where the only sounds are the engine and singing bugs. Meredith's grip loosens
after fifteen minutes. Slowing at a stop sign, I glance back even if I can't
see her face.

"You
ready to get something to eat?"

Meredith
struggles with the helmet until she can make eye contact. "Are you?"

"I
could eat."

"Okay,
but take the scenic route."

Grinning
at her, I rev the engine. Meredith gets comfy and we take the long way to the
Lora's Greasy Spoon. The place is packed as usual, but we don't hurry in.
Meredith needs a few minutes to get steadied. She also needs help yanking the
helmet from her head.

"How's
my hair?"

Grinning,
I smooth down her wild blonde hair. "You look really sexy. In fact, I'm
thinking about getting the food to go and heading back to your place where we
can eat naked."

Meredith
leans into me and smiles widely. "Let me see this place where you hang out
with your friends."

Hands
in her hair, I kiss Meredith hard. I can think of nothing sexier than a woman
who cares enough to leave her comfort zone.

We
get a table near the windows, allowing Meredith to smile at the bright moon.

"How
often do you visit this restaurant?" she asks after ordering a good
helping of greasy pulled pork.

"A
couple guys from my club also work for Boyle. We come here after work most
Wednesdays."

"You
made an exception for yesterday though."

"No
offense to the guys, but you're a helluva lot sexier to look at."

"These
club guys," Meredith asks, trying to find the words, "what do they
do? I mean, what do you do with them?"

"We're
not outlaws. We just like bikes. We like the brotherhood. The sense of
belonging that comes from people who think the same way."

Meredith
nods, but she's unsure. I don't blame her. Good girls think bikers are all
criminals. Of course, my club family thinks country club types like her dad are
all criminals too.
Assumptions go both ways.

"We
have charity rides," I say, taking her hand and studying her perfectly
pink nails. "One of the guys has a kid with muscular dystrophy, so we have
charity events a few times a year to raise money. When another guy's wife got
hurt in a car accident, we helped out with his expenses. The old ladies took
food to them and watched their kids. The guys helped with the yard and fixed
stuff around the house. It's like an extended family."

"How
long have you been involved with the club?"

"Since
I was twenty. My uncle is in the club and he figured I might enjoy talking
bikes with other guys. I felt lost after high school and didn't know what the
hell to do with myself. My brothers were getting married and having kids. I was
busy dating bad women. I wasted a lot of time with those types of chicks. Good
thing I finally woke up and swore them off."

"Why
exactly did you swear off wild women?"

"Bad
women," I mutter. "You're wild in your own way."

"No,
I'm really not."

I
lean back in my chair and wink at her. "You haven't seen yourself in
bed."

Meredith
blushes and my cock hardens. I think she knows my reaction because a little
smile creeps across her face.

"So
why did you give them up?"

"Who
cares?"

"I
was just wondering if the reason you're fixating on me..."

"Fixating?"

"Is
the reason you're hot for me," she suggests, "because you had a bad
break up? After all, you claimed to seek out certain women and now you're hot
for a very different type of woman."

"You're
forgetting how I was hot for you back in high school."

"Me
and every other girl."

Despite
the truth to her comment, I grunt. "Not even close. I didn't want your
sister or Maria Zulma or Emma or Melissa or Jacqueline or Paula or Elizabeth.
Should I go on?"

"No,
I get the gist."

"Do
you, baby?" I ask, taking her hand again.

"Yes.
I'm just trying to understand why you liked bad girls and now you don't?"

"Trying
to figure out if this temporary?"

"Just
curious."

"Well,
doc, if you want to know why I had a thing for bad women, you can blame my mom.
No doubt blaming parents is pretty standard in your line of work."

Meredith
wants to roll her eyes. I see her struggle against the urge. Once she wins, she
asks, "Why your mother?"

"She
was a slut and a bitch growing up," I say, grinning at her expression.
"Mom says as much. She was a groupie skank. A petty thief. Did drugs and
drank like a sailor. These are her words. She had a lot of fun for years then
she got bored of it. Got a solid job, found a good man, and had a few kids.
Mom's old stories made me think I could marry someone like her. A slutty bitch
who turns around and becomes a good woman."

I
caress the soft skin on the back of her hand. "The problem is I never
really thought that plan through. All those sluts and bitches I dated over the
years probably did eventually become good women. Especially those younger girls
like in high school. I bet they're all soccer moms or business executives. Once
they changed, what the hell would they want with me? I never considered that
part. Things usually ended before they ever turned sweet."

"What
interests you in the slutty bitchy phase?"

"The
sex is usually hot and the drama is entertaining."

"So
what's the downside?"

Thinking
of my long line of ex-girlfriends, I lose my smile. "It's exhausting.
Maybe I'm too fucking old for their shit anymore, but the hot sex isn't enough
to put up with their flaws. The drama is just noise now. This last girl was
always upset. People were mean to her. No one understood her. Not her coworkers
or friends or family. She was always an emotional mess. That stuff seemed more
fun when I was younger. At the end, I just looked at her and thought why
couldn't she pull her shit together? I guess, my mom was right. The behaviors
that are cute when you're young have an expiration date. These bad girls had
stopped being cute too. I'm tired of it all. This last one always thought I was
cheating. Drama girls always think that about their men. I used to think it
meant they were really into me. Now I see it as an insult. I've never cheated.
My mom raised me with two rules for women. No hitting and cheating."

"It's
possible what you need is simply a break from those sort of women."